


Bard the Dragonslayer

by alikuu



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Humor, Bard's POV, Barduil - Freeform, Blanket Fic, Canon-Compliant Battle of Five Armies, Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling, Dirty Talk, Dragons, Explicit Sexual Content, I Blame Tumblr, M/M, Mirkwood, Outdoor Sex, Possessive Behavior, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Resolved Sexual Tension, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-05-29 02:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6355615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alikuu/pseuds/alikuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this tumblr prompt: Thranduil agrees to help the ppl of Laketown make it through the rough winter after BOFTA but only if he gets to take the Dragonslayer home… And then Bard finds out that Thranduil is actually suffering from PTSD and his idea of being safe from dragons amounts to clutching a Dragonslayer in his sleep. So he needs to get used to the idea that he’ll sleep in the Elven King’s bed, who treats him like a plush toy, completely unaware of what the excessive physical contact with the lights off is doing to Bard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bereniceofdale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bereniceofdale/gifts).



> This started as just an idea that I posted on Tumblr. Thanks to Bereniceofdale I ended up expanding it into a fic, so this is dedicated to her :))) Enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer/trigger warning: If you checked the tags or at least the description, you probably saw that this story mentions PTSD. I’m no expert on PTSD, this story was written just for fun and is by no means a realistic or serious representation of PTSD. So if anyone feels that they might get offended by this very light-hearted work of fanfiction, which is essentially a blanket fic, please don’t read.

Bard could not lie that he had never entertained fantasies about being in bed with the magnificent and beautiful King of the Woodland Elves. 

The tall, blonde, fearsome elf had captivated Bard from the moment they had met and had only succeeded in intriguing the former bargeman further while they were forced to cooperate and act as equals during the Battle of the Five Armies. 

However never, not in a million years, had Bard imagined that one day he might actually end up in Thranduil’s bed. Least of all like this-

Inside the innermost chambers of the elven kingdom, buried beneath mounds of velvet, down and silk, Bard felt trapped under the heavy bedding of Thranduil’s sumptuous bed. Sheets tangled around his legs, pillows piled up like the walls of a fortress around him, and in the midst of it all was Thranduil himself, long blond hair like spun silver falling freely over Bard’s bare skin, face brazenly nuzzled under the former bargeman’s scrubby chin, and breath fanning over the light sheen of sweat that had formed over Bard’s overheated body. 

The King of the Elves was fast asleep, clothed from head to toe in a loose elven nightgown. The leg that he had slung over Bard’s own was also covered by some kind of three-quarter trousers, which the man could feel rubbing against his own night pants.

Bard lied topless, unable to put up with too much clothing in the warmth of the Elven King’s halls. Unlike his old home on the Lake, elven chambers were perpetually warm. Despite the bitter winter ranging outside with fires lit in every fireplace Thranduil’s quarters were as hot as the mids of summer. In fact, Bard was so unused to such heat and such fine bedding that he found himself unable to sleep, even after he had been _ordered_ to rest. _Especially_ since he had been ordered into it.

Which brings us back to the current predicament - he was in Thranduil’s bed, and he was clothed, ordered by his new sovereign to sleep, while said sovereign was pressed against him seemingly without a care in the world. And Bard could hardly do anything but endure it, because he was as good as Thranduil’s property at that point and as difficult to comprehend as it was, it was the absolute truth. 

You are probably wondering how he got there in the first place. Well, this is how:

It all started when he slew a dragon. Yes, it started there, and it only got stranger after. 

So, how Bard slew Smaug is another story, but it’s important to mention that the former bargeman did not consider that deed a simple, everyday thing. Slaying dragons wasn’t supposed to become routine for him. He considered himself rather lucky for having survived that first time and if asked, he would have said that he’d prefer never to have to repeat such a feat, for he wasn’t certain that he could. Others might have disagreed, but we’ll get to that. 

So once Smaug was dead, a war was waged over who got to keep the gold in Erebor. Armies of elves, dwarfs, orcs, eagles, oh yeah, and men (since what was left of the people of Laketown had also been forced into the conflict) had fought until good prevailed over evil and finally a settlement was reached.

But once the war was over, the blatant truth that humans cannot eat gold had forced Bard, the newly appointed King of Dale, to go around begging his allies to sell him supplies in order for his people to survive the winter. 

“We barely have enough to last us the winter.” Dain had said. “Try Thranduil - the woodland elves horde grain, wine and everything you need. Maybe he’ll agree to trade with you, but don’t hope for a reasonable price. He knows you’re desperate. He’ll milk ye dry.”

It was understandable that the dwarves, who had suffered the most from the war would not sell their resources to the men, but without food and without shelter, Bard had no idea how his people were supposed to live. 

Somehow he had counted on the idea that the Elves would be the ones to help. And the last thing he had expected was to be dealt another low blow by life, one that he really didn’t think his people deserved: 

“My Kingdom has suffered great losses and is threatened from many sides.” Thranduil had said when Bard had went to his war tent for help. “I don’t have excessive stock to sell as I need to keep my reserves full for the coming perils.”

“But my Lord,” Bard had uttered breathlessly, rendered nearly speechless with surprise at the callus nature of the Elven King. “You would keep your reserves full in case of danger when my people’s starvation and death is certain without your help?! We’ve lost everything. We have nothing - we will die this winter if you will not help us…”

“Who said anything about letting your people die?” Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “I only said that I would not sell the people of Dale resources for gold. That does not mean that I’m unwilling to make a deal of another kind.”

“What deal?” Bard’s eyes were wide and he knew he sounded desperate, but he was. The future of his children and all the people of Laketown was in this elf’s hands and it would have been a lie if Bard said that he wasn’t prepared to do anything to get the Elven King’s favour. “State your terms and if we could meet them, you will have your deal.”

Thranduil seemed pleased by that answer. There was a cool, calculating light in his eyes as he appraised the King of Dale with a quick glance, scanning the former bargeman from head to toe, which made Bard feel as if he had been weight, measured and judged… as what? Bard couldn’t tell for certain. But he did get the keen sense that whatever Thranduil had been hoping to achieve, he had got it, because he had the self-satisfied aura of a cat that had just swallowed a mouse.

“If Dale was a part of my Kingdom, it would be my responsibility to rebuild it and see that it’s people are fed and kept warm through the winter and seasons to come.” Thranduil began and Bard felt something cold twist in his stomach.

Was that how Dale’s sovereignty ended? Trading their independence for food and blankets? But did they really have a choice?

“I’m listening.” Bard said, his voice grating low like two stones grinding against each other. His fists were balled by his sides, trying to suppress the anger that was rising inside of him.

“Dale can become a semi-autonomous province of Greenwood, a trusted ally to our East, who would mediate my Kingdom’s trade with the Dwarves of Erebor. In turn I will take care of your people and I will let them choose their leader and govern their town as they please.”

“That’s…” Bard opened his mouth and closed it. Those terms were much better than he had expected. Perhaps the Elven King was not as callous as pretended to be. Maybe Thranduil just didn’t want to ruin his cold-hearted reputation by helping the humans without some pretence. It didn’t matter either way, because the deal was great and Bard wanted to thank him profusely, but what he said was: “That’s acceptable.”

“There is, however,” Thranduil’s eyes returned to him, pinning him in place with their icy intensity, “one more thing.”

Bard’s heart nearly stopped as he sensed that this was the dealbreaker coming and that whatever Thranduil was going to say, he probably wasn't going to like it.

“I want you, Bard the Dragonslayer, to become my subject and swear your allegiance to me.” The King of the Elves said.

Bard blinked a couple of times, replaying the sentence in his head. Had he heard right? Was that all that Thranduil wanted? 

“Only I, my Lord?” Bard asked.

“I only require you.” 

Although the former bargeman was deeply confused by the strange request, it seemed like a small sacrifice to make in order to save his people, so he agreed without a second thought.

“Dale will be under your protection, but you will not be its King. You will be my subject and as such will live in the Woodland Realm and help defend it.” Thranduil said once Bard had agreed to his terms.

“Defend it?” Bard felt like he couldn’t comprehend half of the things the elf was saying. “Defend it against what?”

“Dragons of course.” Thranduil answered as if it were the most natural thing. “Did you think that the death of Smaug would attract only orcs? The north is still teeming with drakes and it's a matter of time before they try their luck in taking over what was vacated by him.”

“And how would I be of any use against that?” Bard shook his head wondering when exactly the Elven King’s shift from intelligent and cunning to utterly unreasonable and paranoid had happened. 

“By being a Dragonslayer.” 

It was in that moment that Bard had started questioning the Elven King’s sanity. The first of many such moments to come in the next few weeks. 

“You think, that there will be dragons…” Bard tried to choose his words carefully, speaking slowly, as if he was addressing one of his kids. “Coming to attack you?

“I like to be prepared.” Thranduil tilted his head, looking down at Bard from his impressive height. “Now choose - would you take my offer or deny it?”

Bard took a deep breath. He had no real choice - he had to make the deal, even though the part with the dragons and the dragonslaying was really rubbing him the wrong way.

Thankfully, Bard reasoned, there was no such thing as dragons in the north. Everyone knew that Smaug was the last dragon on Middle Earth. Perhaps Thranduil was just doing all of it for some political reasons. After all, the former bargeman couldn’t begin to fancy understanding such an ancient and calculative being. Surely, in reality, Thranduil realised there was no danger of dragons to him or anyone else.

Besides, Bard supposed that it wouldn’t hurt to move to the Woodland Kingdom with his children and work as a “dragonslayer”. It practically meant that he wasn’t going to move a muscle for the rest of his life and that his kids would be well provided for. Thinking of it in that way, the offer was one that only a fool would have refused… Or so he had thought.

…

Bard swore his allegiance to Thranduil on the snow-covered town square of Dale. There were mixed emotions in the crowd of gathered people, as many grieved the fact that their would-be-King was taken away from them, while others rejoiced the security that bought them. 

Yet the same could be said for the gathered elves. As Bard knelt before the Elven King and recited the vows which would make him a subject of the Woodland Realm, he felt some less than friendly stares boring into the back of his bowed head. When Thranduil accepted his vows and bid him to rise, Bard turned towards the crowd and amidst the odd cheering from his people, he noticed that most of the elves were sizing him up with sour or dubious expressions.

 _‘Well, blame your King for that.’_ Bard thought to himself. It wasn’t his fault that Thranduil had set such unusual terms.

But things only got stranger and more uncomfortable from there. 

“You are _whom_!?” Bard couldn’t hide the anger in his tone as he addressed the hapless elleth who stood between him and his three children.

“Eagwen, Lord Dragonslayer.” The slight, auburn-haired, wood elf said, not moving an inch to back down from the indignant parent before her. “Our King commanded…”

“Your King cannot command me to be separated from my children!” Bard roared.

“He is _your_ King as well, my Lord.” She reminded him pointedly. 

“Well, I’m going to have words with him!” Bard growled, but before he could go, she reached up and grabbed his sleeve.

“Please, my Lord, listen to me! King Thranduil does not like disobedience and if you question his orders you are unlikely to get anything but a punishment. He has absolute power in our society. I know it does not work the same way in your previous community, but here we do not disobey our King.”

“But this is wrong!” Bard insisted. “I am their Father! I need to be the one taking care of them!”

“You will be.” She reassured him. “King Thranduil only wanted me to take care of them during the day while you are otherwise occupied with your new duties as the Dragonslayer. I believe he is only doing this to facilitate you.”

“Well, he should have asked me first before he hired my children a nanny.” Bard crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Eagwen let out a short giggle before she covered her mouth with her hands. 

“Did I say something funny?” Bard frowned at the flustered elleth.

“My Lord.” She hesitated. “Forgive me for saying this, but… It’s just that you said that our King should have asked for you first. It’s a bizarre thing to say. I’d suggest that you refrain from such words in front of others. While I may find it amusing, others might take great offense of it.”

“Others, like Thranduil?” Bard raised an eyebrow.

“I cannot speak of _our King Thranduil_. But some of his other subjects for certain.”

And so Bard had begun to live a life that, in his humbled opinion, was equivalent of that of a servant. He was not truly allowed to make any choices of his own, instead, everything, from where he’d live, what he’d eat, when he’d work and whom would take care of his children while he was gone, were decided for him.

What was even more disturbing was that the elves clearly had lived in that way for thousands of years and were perfectly happy with the established order, so no one sympathised with his trouble in understanding or agreeing with their King’s absolute power. Some were even grievously offended by it.

One bold statement even got him as far as being summoned in front of the King, whom he had not seen since the day that the army had began its march from Dale to Mirkwood where Bard and his children currently lived.

“I believe you know why you’ve been summoned here.” Thranduil sat on his throne, elevated way above the platform from which Bard stared up at him. 

The Elven King looked magnificent, dressed in robes of white and silver, crowned with naked black branches from the winter woods outside, the very essence of their cold, ethereal beauty.

“Forgive me, my King.” Bard nodded his head respectfully, trying to hide the rebelliousness in his tone. “I am not entirely certain what I have done to deserve this formal reprimand.”

“You’ve been heard speaking in offense to my orders.” Thranduil drawled somewhat boredly. “My officer reported that you were not convinced by the need to occupy your post on the new battalion, which has been constructed on top of the hill over my castle, for the sole purpose of you guarding this Kingdom from dragons.”

“My Lord Thranduil,” Bard looked up, feeling his patience running thin. “May I have permission to speak freely?”

“Go ahead.” Bard could almost hear the smirk in the King’s voice, although he wasn’t certain whether he had seen or imagined it. It had been a quick, self-satisfied thing, that had flashed so briefly over Thranduil’s face that with the distance that separated them, Bard couldn’t be certain.

“It’s bloody cold outside and even more so up there in the midst of winter,” Bard burst out. “I’m sure that if a dragon was approaching, we’d know about it well in advance. They are pretty much impossible to miss. So if we do get attacked, I would have enough time to go up there and shoot it, since that’s what you want of me. But until then, couldn’t I spend my time in the nice warm quarters that you have given me, being with my kids instead of leaving them with the nanny you so _graciously_ appointed?!”

Something about the way Thranduil’s eyebrows rose up almost to his hairline made Bard realise that the intonation he had used did not suggest that he meant words like “gracious” when he spoke of the Elven King.

 

“Thank you for the insight.” Thranduil said, his calm tone surprising Bard and making him gape incredulously. “As King I cannot always see to all things personally, therefore there was no way for me to know that the cold up there is too much for your human body to bear. The last thing my Kingdom needs is our Dragonslayer to fall sick or dead due to the harsh elements before the dragons even arrive.”

Bard could hardly believe his ears. 

“From now on you are in charge of your own activities. You may go and do as you please within my realm, as long as you do your role to protect it.” The Elven King decreed.

“My Lord,” Bard began incredulously. “With the risk of sounding ungrateful, may I ask what caused you to change your mind so drastically?”

“I trust your expertise with Dragons.” Thranduil had simply said and there, right there was the problem. 

Because for all of Bard’s misgivings with the Woodland realm and its King, by far, the biggest absurdity of all was that the longer he stayed, the more he believed that Thranduil was actually dead serious about the dragon-thing. And that was more than a little unsettling.

…

And so the days rolled into weeks. Thanks to Bard’s outburst in the Throne room, his limitations indeed lifted, but his newfound freedom seemed to completely befuddle the elves. The former bargeman found himself tracked by persistent and curious gazes wherever he went, be it the market, the gardens or the bathing chambers. 

Once he confronted Eagwen about it, since she was the closest elf he had to a friend. The elleth was still the appointed nanny for his children, but lately her role had turned more into a tour-guide/interpreter, as she took less time caring for Bard’s children, a task which the father kept mostly to himself, and more time teaching Bard and his kids how to live in the Woodland realm.

“I really don’t understand.” Bard had said. “Have I grown two heads? Everywhere I go elves are staring at me…”

Eagwen had been silent, trying hard to do the evasive-elf-thing, of which Bard was getting very tired of, but after some more needling she had given him a wary answer.

“It’s not just about your obvious species difference.” She had sighed. “Even though some of the younger elves here have never seen such rounded ears or such fur on the face and on other body parts...”

Bard rolled his eyes. At least that explained all the stolen glimpses in the communal bathing chambers.

“It’s also…” Eagwen’s eyes darted from side to side and her ears twitched, as if she was weary of someone overhearing her words. “It’s also the fact that our King treats you with such unusual favour...” She whispered.

“Aye,” Bard nodded, starting to understand. He didn’t doubt that by that point, everyone knew of his freedom to choose his own activities. Elves did have a strong inclination towards gossip. 

“And many just don’t understand.” She continued. “I know you, and I know that you are not a simple, brutish creature…”

“What did you say?!” 

“Well, you must agree that humans are not the brightest or most refined of beings.” The elleth tried to explain.

“That’s just…” Bard rubbed the bridge of his nose with a deep sigh of resignation. “Ok, so some of you think that I’m an ugly human idiot and wonder why your King has taken a liking towards me…”

“Not precisely ugly.” She said and her eyes subtly darted down before returning to his face. “I’ve heard from others that many find your particular aspects exotic.” 

“But is that reason enough for all the staring!?” Bard let out a frustrated breath. “Surely it’s about time elves came to terms with my presence here.”

“There is also the fact that you have been appointed to be our Kingdom’s Dragonslayer.” She added. “Many are wondering if you are deserving of such a high rank.”

“Does anyone else, besides your King, worry about dragons?” Bard asked carefully.

“Of course. We are all terrified that the dragons of the north might come pillaging our Kingdom any time. Right now most of us are content, and hope that they would come during your lifetime, so that you could slay them, but what I’m worried about is that human life is so short, in just over fifty years we might…”

Her words blurred into noise as she continued to speak, unaware of the horror slowly blossoming over Bard’s features. 

It wasn’t just their King. All of the Elves were crazy!

....

And then one day it had happened. The unthinkable. The one thing that Bard had never expected to live through again.

“Dragon!!!” Someone shouted. “A fire drake from the north is pillaging the Greenwood!!!”

It had started with the sound of elven horns echoing through the caves. Bard and his children had been shopping for small household items and toys in the market. Tilda had just been examining a beautiful wooden bird of dwarven make when the entire place had erupted into chaos.

“This cannot be.” Bard mumbled to himself.

“Quick! My Lord, you must go!” Eagwen shook him from his stupor. “I’ll take your children to safety, as was planned, and you must go to the battalion on top of the hill and shoot down the beast!”

There was no denying it - that was what Bard’s job description had said, after all. Slay the Dragon. 

“Oh boy…” He huffed as he ran up the stone-carved steps, which winded many stories up towards the top of the mountain. “If my heart doesn’t burst by the time I get up there, I might have to actually face another dragon.”

Luckily (or unluckily, depending on how you view it,) Bard did survive the endless flights of stairs and burst through the door, which lead him to a sky-high balcony, constructed on the tallest peak over the forest. From there he could see the dragon, which was flying low over Mirkwood, breathing fire, undoubtedly chasing the poor elves that happened to be out on that unfortunate day. 

Strangely, faced with his worst nightmare, Bard did not feel fear. He did not feel anything at all but resolve. A part of him knew that he should be petrified, that coming out to face another dragon was likely going to end his career as a dragonslayer, and that chances were, he was never going to see his family again. However, he couldn’t bring himself to wish that he had never made that deal. From what he could see from that high vantage point, the air over Dale was clear from smoke. Perhaps if he killed the dragon, or kept it occupied for long enough, his people had a chance of saving themselves. 

Either way, it had become his duty to protect Thranduil and the elves, so Bard did the only thing he could think of:

“Hey!” He shouted. “Hey, dragon!”

It’s said that dragon’s ears are keener even than those of the elves, and it turned out to be true, since the large blue flying-thing heard him and landed, turning its long, serpentine neck towards him, snake-like eyes and terrible attention all on Bard.

 _“Who are you?”_ The dragon hissed. 

It was a much smaller one than Smaug, but massive and horrendous nonetheless. Bard’s heart felt like it would burst.

“I’m Bard the Dragonslayer. I shot down Smaug, a much larger dragon than you. So if you want to live, leave this land and go back to the North… Or from wherever it is you came!”

 _“I’ve heard of you, Bard the Dragonslayer.”_ The dragon hissed. _“But your fame will not save you. I am Lamiah. I will eat you alive and burn this forest, feast on elven flesh tonight!”_

Lamiah took flight, heading straight towards the battalion and opening its big mouth to breathe fire. 

“Shit!” Bard hissed, ducking in the hiding spots under the heavy stone battalions, which had been specifically made for that purpose. When the dragon flew past, he managed to take a look at its underbelly, noting that the hide was much softer than Smaug’s and could be pierced by the heavy elven steel arrows, which Thranduil’s smiths had created for him. 

However, Bard couldn’t get a chance to fire with Lamiah circling the battalion and raining fire all over it. 

“You try to burn me, but what about eating me?” Bard challenged. “Didn’t you say you’d swallow me alive? You can’t keep your word, dragon!”

 _“I will!”_ Lamiah growled deeply and flew towards the battalion with its massive hind claws extending forward to catch purchase on the rock foundation. Bard used his opportunity to fire an arrow, which pierced one of the dragon’s feet, sending it flying away with shrieks of pain and fire raining from its sharp-toothed mouth.

The distraction was all he needed to send another arrow through the air, this time directly into the dragon’s long neck, piercing it just below the jaw.

With a roar Lamiah fell from the sky, crumbling over the forest in front of the Palace’s entrance, its heavy tail nearly destroying the bridge before the magically sealed gates.

…

As Bard ran down the hundreds of stairs to the main level, he could not hear a sound within the walls of the elven palace. All was eerily quiet and still. However, the sight that greeted him once he made it out of the passage was exactly as he had expected. Two elven soldiers were waiting for him and demanding:

“The King summons you to the gate!” 

He followed them, having to half-jog to keep up with their pace until they reached the main hall where seemingly Thranduil’s entire army stood in neat rolls guarding the main gates of the Kingdom. The Elven King was there, at the front of his army. He was clad in his elven armour, looking gorgeous… Wait, was gorgeous the right word for that bastard, Bard wondered?

The elves moved out of his way as he quickly approached their King, who regardless of what Bard had assumed, did not seem smug for having been right about the attack that happened. If anything, he seemed frightfully grim, his face strained into a joyless expression. 

“It’s not dead yet.” Were Thranduil’s first words, spoken harshly as the Elven King gripped him by the shoulder and hauled him to the living stone of the gate. He showed Bard to a transparent stone, which the human could have sworn had not been there before. Through it, they could see the happenings on the other side, over the bridge and into the forest. And Thranduil was right - Lamiah was still wriggling in agony, wounded but clearly not dead. Its large tail was swishing around, unrooting trees with its sheer size and force, digging rocks out of the earth.

“If it’s not stopped, it will destroy the bridge, or worse - escape and come back later.” Thranduil hissed, turning his blue eyes to Bard and breathing sharply through his nose, like an enraged animal. 

“Alright, alright.” Bard raised his hands, trying to take a step away from the Elven King, who clearly had forgotten all about personal space and was towering over him from so close that Bard could feel his breath on his face. “I understand. Open the gate and let’s finish it.”

“You finish it.” Thranduil growled.

“But…” Bard blinked at the Elven King’s deliberate obstructiveness. “I cannot get a shot of it from the hill and going out there alone…”

“I said, **you finish it**.” Thranduil repeated and there was something absolutely feral about him. He was utterly pale, all colour drained from his face with the exception of his eyes, which seemed too dark in the diminished light. 

But it wasn’t just the light. Looking closer, Bard realised that it was the blacks of Thranduil’s eyes that had expanded to the point that they almost swallowed the pale blue irises. And in that moment, the Elven King scared the former bargemen more than the dragon outside. 

“Aye, I’ll go.” Bard said and Thranduil’s presence pealing away from him felt like a massive weight being lifted. 

The Elven King walked a few brisk steps away but his long legs carried him a much greater distance than what Bard could have assumed possible for anyone to traverse in a matter of seconds. 

Thranduil shouted orders in his language, causing elves to run around and regroup. Several went to the gate and began unbolting it.

Strangely, through all the commotion, the thing that ended up nagging Bard the most was not the fact that he was about to walk out and face a still-living dragon alone. Instead, what worried him more was the keen sense that something, and Bard wasn’t entirely certain what, was definitely wrong with the Elven King.

Bard had met Thranduil under what could be called extreme circumstances. And yet, even in the midst of war and in the face of dangers unknown, the Elven King had never once, even for a split second, seemed perturbed or uncertain. However, as the gates were about to open and Thranduil turned to survey the progress, Bard saw something that looked suspiciously like terror on the elf’s face. His expression was as tight as string just before it ruptured, and his skin had lost all colour. 

As Bard watched him, a ridiculous thought of going to the Elven King and saying something reassuring crossed his mind. As quickly as the idea came, Bard scrapped it. Thranduil didn’t care about Bard’s reassurance. The Elven King just wanted the pesky dragon dealt with - he had hired a god-damned dragonslayer, assumed responsibility over an entire city of humans, keeping them fed and taken care of, just for that very moment. No wonder he wanted to see Bard getting the job done.

Sighing deeply and preparing himself for the inevitable, Bard turned his back on Thranduil and the elves, and looked through the gate, which was cracked open just enough for him to pass. 

_‘There goes nothing…’_ He thought to himself as he walked out. 

As soon as he stepped through the gate, it slid shut behind him. 

_‘So much for help…’_ Bard shook his head and headed over the half-destroyed bridge towards the dragon. 

…

Meanwhile on the other side, the Elven King pressed himself to the door, watching through the viewing stone as the Dragonslayer advanced towards the place where Lamiah still wriggled in near-death agony. 

His shaky exhale sounded too loudly in the deadly quiet halls, as the breath he had been holding for too long finally burst out of his chest, before he sucked in another one to hold for a while longer.

The elves were still, waiting and watching their King for his commands. They could all see the minute tremors of his body and few, if any, begrudged him for it. Many of them had been with him on the terrible march against Scatha, the dragon, which had burned half of their King’s flesh straight down to the bone and left him hanging at death’s door for months. 

The years of recovery that had followed and the face, which their King had worn during those were also hard to forget. For even elven flesh had trouble healing burns of the magnitude that Thranduil had suffered, and many had not believed that he’d ever truly regain his beauty. 

It had taken nearly a century for his skin to return to normal, but some wounds, were deeper than those left on the flesh. Some wounds, those of the soul, those left by the pain, which the body remembers, were even harder to heal. And even after millennia, with a dragonslayer in their midst, it did not surprise them to see their King shaken to the core upon facing his greatest fear. 

Thranduil sucked in another breath and tensed. The elves at the front row exchanged wary glances and braced for his commands. 

“Open the gates!” The King cried and if there was a tremor in his frame, it did not show, nor did it sound in his powerful voice. 

The doors were opened and Thranduil lead his warriors over the bridge, running lightly towards the still twitching dragon.

The Elven King stopped mere meters from the dying monster, watching it carefully and accessing the situation as the last fires in its eyes were slowly burning out.

“Sire!” One of his warriors approached but Thranduil raised a hand halting all movement.

“Wait.” He commanded. 

The dragon twitched one last time before its yellow eyes closed. There was a second arrow peaking through its skull, one that Bard had lodged in there before getting smacked by the tip of Lamia’s long tail and sent flying into the trees. 

“The dragon is dead.” He shouted once he was certain. “Find the Dragonslayer! Get him to help!”  
…

Waking up in a beautiful elven castle may be the stuff of fairytales, but with the pain shooting across his upper body, Bard knew that he had awoken into anything but a dream. 

Groaning, the former bargeman sat up, and was quickly fussed over by elven medics, who protested and insisted that he remained immobile. 

“Where are my children? Sigrid, Tilda, Bain!” 

He tried to get up from the bed. Someone had stripped him of his armour, and left him in the simple linen clothes underneath. Surprisingly, he had not taken much damage - the dragon’s tale had smacked him like a whip, but apart from some serious bruising across one arm and his chest, as well as the many scrapes he had sustained while falling into dense foliage, he was fine.

“They are waiting outside.” A healer said.

“Let them in, please!” Bard rasped, his voice coming out harsher due to the pain in his ribs.

“Da!” Tilda ran in as soon as the elves opened the door. 

The rest of them were also quick to jumped all over his bed, Bain’s embrace a little too enthusiastic for Bard’s tender state, but he bore it without complain. He was just happy that his kids were safe.

What really shouldn’t have surprised him so much was the fervour he was shown by pretty much everyone on his way to his chambers when he was finally allowed to leave the healer’s halls later that day. Every single elf stopped him to thank him. Profusely.

They were all referencing him slaying the dragon and saving them and some of them had already composed songs for him, which they insisted on singing. While Bard politely turned them down, citing that he needed to get some rest in his rooms and needed to get his kids to bed, no such luck came later when he was summoned to a feast in his honour.

The Elven King had thrown a grand party to celebrate Bard’s success against Lamiah and there were toasts, speeches, poetry, and of course, every elf who had come up with a new song about the Dragonslayer got their chance to perform it in front of the gathered audience, much to Bard’s increasing embarrassment.

The elves were clearly enjoying themselves, not tiring from singing praises or recounting the events of the day over and over again from different perspectives. When they got sufficiently drunk they pushed all the tables to the sides and began dancing, or rather, throwing their limbs left and right, as seen from the perspective of a human, who had grown on reels, jigs and strathspeys.

Bard was tired and to keep up with the festivities, which lasted well after midnight without showing any signs of stopping, he drank goblet after goblet of wine. At some point he was so drunk that he almost didn’t mind the songs sung about him and could at least feel amused and laugh good naturedly at the strangeness of his situation. 

He did not notice when the Elven King took his leave of the feast and neither did he really care. They had sat a good distance away from each other, since, while Bard was given a seat of high honour amongst the warriors, Thranduil and several other nobles sat on an elevated table above from the rest. Through the party he had felt the King’s eyes on him several times, and had answered that gaze, only to have Thranduil look away with disinterest. 

But that was about as much interaction as they had during the feast. Therefore when Bard finally managed to extricate himself from his, now very drunk, elven admirers, and started stumbling through the long passages leading to his quarters, the last thing he expected was another summon by the King.

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” Bard groaned, supporting himself on a wall as his world was not yet done spinning.

Thranduil’s guards looked at each other nervously.

“The King summoned you now.” One of them said soberly. “It means that he wants to see you now…”

“I get it. I know. Absolute power and everything. Fine.” Bard waved his hands to shush the elf. “Well, tell him that I’m waaaay too drunk to be of anymore use to him tonight. It’s for his best interest that he waits until I sleep it off.”

“Lord Dragonslayer, with all your respect…” The other guard was looking at him pleadingly. “That’s not how it works. Please, come with us, otherwise we would have to use force.”

“You are serious, aren’t you?” Bard sighed. “Alright, I’ll come. But you might have to carry me, because I really can’t hold steady right now…”

And so, drunk as you may, Bard was taken to the Elven King’s personal chambers, a place that he had never seen before, and if he were even a little bit sober, he might have wondered for what purpose he was there at all. As it was, he was left alone with the Elven King, who sat by a table and sipped on yet another glass of wine.

“How can I help? My King.” Bard said, remembering his courtesy just in time. Sort of.

“Your help has already been given and well received.” Thranduil said, rising up from his chair. Bard’s eyes darted to his tall frame, trying to make sense of what the Elven King was wearing. At first it looked like a dress, a very loose one and not very fitting of the King’s usually flashy style. It was kind of plain and subdued, long, loose thing that did nothing to accentuate the elegant lines of Thranduil’s body… And there were those bad thoughts again. Bard quickly pushed them away and tried to get his mind back on track.

Straining his wobbling gaze to see the garments better, Bard recognised that it was a nightgown. By all means the Elven King looked as if he had risen from bed. Even in his intoxicated state Bard found that particular.

“I wanted to congratulate you personally on your success today, Bard the Dragonslayer. You have my gratitude and my respect.” Thranduil continued.

“Well, I’m glad I managed to do the job you hired me for.” Bard might have been blinking too much. He tried to look away, not trusting his eyes as the Elven King approached him. 

(But Valar, didn’t Thranduil’s beauty shine even brighter in such simple clothing!)

“I trust that you had a good time at your feast?” The Elven King inquired, stopping just a few paces away from the former bargeman, who was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his thoughts and his body straight.

What was happening? Why was he alone with Thranduil in his bed chambers? Why wasn’t Thranduil wearing anything more… fitting of a king. 

“The feast was…” Bard dared to look up and seeing Thranduil’s luminous eyes on him, his platinum blonde hair falling down those broad shoulders, he completely lost his thought. “... It was great. Thank you. I’m very flattered.”

“You shouldn’t be. You fully deserve the fame and privilege. You have given my Kingdom peace of mind. Tonight most will sleep soundly, knowing that they are safe.”

“Most?” Bard raised an eyebrow, perplexed.

“Not everyone.” Thranduil said and walking away until he stopped by the corner of his bed. He turned his head slightly and looked at Bard over his shoulder. “That's why you're are here. I have one last task for you tonight.”

Bard bit his lip. He looked from the Elven King to the bed to the empty chamber around them. There could only be one kind of task on such a night, and it seemed like he was about to be ordered into it by the beautiful, untouchable, ice-cold King of the Elves. 

Bard couldn’t lie to himself - he really didn’t mind. 

“Do you want me to help you relax?” He uttered, heart picking up in anticipation.

“Yes.” Thranduil nodded, but there was no emotion in his expression, no inclination in his voice. And his next words came as an order. “There are nightclothes on that dresser for you. Change into them.”

Bard didn’t know what to make of the request. Surely he should have been undressing at that point, but he was unaware of elvish customs, so he did as he was told. Maybe Thranduil found his current clothes offending in some way. Therefore Bard had to change into… a plain pair of elven nightshirt and pants? 

Bard glanced behind him to check if he was being observed, but Thranduil had turned away and walked a little distance further, giving the human some privacy. Getting more and more suspicious of the nature of the Elven King’s desires, Bard made quick work with the clothes. He was a grown man and not someone easily intimidated. Whatever game Thranduil wanted to play, Bard was more than capable of handling it.

And so, soon enough Bard was standing in the middle of Thranduil’s bedchamber, barefoot and clad only in the elven nightwear, swaying just a little bit.

“All done.” He announced and Thranduil turned around.

“Get in the bed.” Came the next order and Bard immediately obeyed, slowly crawling on top of the sheets.

The bed was opulently large, enough to fit several families by Laketown’s standards. Bard sprawled out on his back across it, feet dangling off the edge before propping up on his elbows to observe the slowly approaching Elven King. 

“Is that how humans sleep?” Thranduil asked at last. 

“Ugh, no?” Bard tilted his head to the side and tried to focus on the elf’s expression. It was an incredible feat that he still didn't see double, however that didn't mean that his vision wasn’t a little too soft around the edges.

“Can you lie with your head on the pillows and your body under the covers?” Thranduil asked impatiently.

Bard did as he was told and waited for Thranduil to join him, which he did, lifting the covers and sliding between them gracefully.

“Are you hurt.” Thranduil asked as the man felt the elf moving closer and closer to him.

“Nothing that would kill me.” Bard said, keeping his eyes on the luxurious canopy above, bidding his time while he tried to figure out exactly what Thranduil was up to. 

The elf had moved within arms reach and the former bargeman felt careful fingertips on his elbow. Gingerly Thranduil’s hand traced up over the muscles of his arm, dragging the light elven shirt over it. Bard let out an involuntary hiss.

Thranduil did not apologise, however he skirted even closer until he was propped up on one elbow on his side, looking down on the human next to him.

“You fought valiantly today.” He said instead.

“Thank you.” Bard tried to meet his gaze but from this close it was unbearable to look into the Elven King’s intense eyes. 

The heat pooling beneath the heavy velvet covers and the numerous pillows was already getting uncomfortable for him and he squirmed a little under the sheets, an action that only earned him a strong hand on his chest, which pinned him in place.

“I’d like to reward you.” The Elven King continued and Bard felt that same hand slide over his body until it sneaked around his other side and Thranduil lowered himself to the bed, lying down with his arm accords Bard, holding him still. 

“You may have anything you want. Just name it.” Thranduil continued and Bard’s body gave an involuntary shiver.

From this close Bard could feel Thranduil’s heart beating inside his chest. It’s rhythm was hard and the elf’s breaths were coming a little faster than they should. 

“You have already given me all that I require.” Bard whispered, shifting in the elf’s embrace, which had somehow grown tighter. Soon enough he realised that he wasn’t being held - he was being clutched. Thranduil was grabbing for him as if he was holding on for dear life, with both arms now around Bard’s body and squeezing the man tightly to his quickly expanding and falling chest. 

“I insist.” Thranduil said breathlessly and there was a slight tremor in his voice, one that Bard could no longer mistake for lust. “Tomorrow you can ask Eagwen for anything you need. I will give orders and she will be able to provide it to you…”

“Are you ok?” Bard swallowed hard, not caring about interrupting the Elven King. Something was definitely wrong and he knew it.

“Yes, I am.” Thranduil’s voice was quiet, but sharp, more like a hiss than a whisper. It held no room for disagreement. “Now sleep.”

…

And that's how it started. Being ordered to relax while an Elven King, who clearly was not ok, clutched to him like a life-line. Thranduil’s breaths and the quivers of his body looked suspiciously like fear to the former bargeman, but who was he to say and what was there for an Elven King to fear?! It made no sense. 

They were safe, a dragon had just been slain and no one had gotten seriously hurt. Thranduil’s bedchamber was arguably one of the safest places in all of Middle Earth. And yet, for some reason, this fearsome elf seemed absolutely terrified at night.

On one of the first nights, when the thing had still been new, and Bard hadn't thought that it would go on for much longer, the human had made the mistake to ask the question:

“Is it because of the dragon?” He had asked.

“Don't. Speak. Of dragons. To me.” Had come the furious answer and he had been tossed onto his front in the bed, almost suffocating with his face pressed into the pillows, while Thranduil’s arms locked around him like a cage, holding him punishingly tight, making no move to let go even as Bard struggled.

And through it all another “attack”, as Bard had begun to call those episodes in his mind, happened. Thranduil's breath and his heart rate had risen out of control, but he hadn't said a word. He had simply dug his fingers into Bard’s flesh harder, trembled against him, but not uttered a single explanation of what was going on.

And later, in another week or so, having grown tired of the nightly summons, which could come at any ridiculous hour of the night, because apparently the King of the Elves did not sleep as a normal being, Bard decides to try another tactic for fixing the problem:

“You know you got me for a reason, right?” He had said to Thranduil as the elf snuggled by his side for the night. “I will kill any and all dragons that come to your kingdom. You have nothing to worry about.”

This time the word dragon had not set off another freak out session. Instead Thranduil’s eyes had grown wide and his eyebrows had risen in surprise.

“I don't doubt it.” He had breathed and shifted even closer to Bard, pressing himself against every inch of flesh he could reach.

His embraces had turned less aggressive and more intimate since that night, but the nightly routine hadn't otherwise changed.

It continued night after night and no one, not the guards, not the servants, not Eagwen, not any of the other elves in the Woodland realm, who surely knew of this arrangement, since word traveled like a wildfire through those halls, batted an eyelash at the fact that Bard was sleeping with their King. As in, next to him.

“What is this called?” Bard asked Eagwen one day. “A bed warmer? Is that even a real thing?”

“A bed warmer is something else, I believe.” The elleth told him.

“Then what am I?!” Bard threw his hands in the air in frustration.

“You are the Dragonslayer. Guarding our King in any way he sees fit is your duty.”

“Am I guarding him? It seems to me I'm his cuddle toy.” Bard shook his head in disbelief.

“It a dragon approaches the Woodland realm at night, the first to know will be our King, since he feels the life of each tree and every animal accords these lands. There is no better way to alert you on time if your duties are needed.”

“Is that what you all tell yourselves?!” Bard scrunched his face in disbelief.

“That is how it is.” Eagwen didn't bulge.

“Your King is a nervous wreck! He needs help.”

“How dare you speak of _our_ King in this way!?”

And so Bard had realised that he would find no sympathy nor understanding amongst the woodland elves. They clearly didn't want to see what he had seen with his own eyes - Thranduil was terrified of dragons but was too proud to admit it or seek a healthy resolution. 

And that’s how Bard found himself in his current predicament. With his nightshirt discarded because of the unbearable warmth in the royal chambers, he lied next to the Elven King in his bed. Thranduil was so used to him by that point that he was happy laying his gorgeous blonde head on the former bargeman’s hairy chest, much to Bard’s secret satisfaction. So much for the elves’ high-nosed racism and hair-shaming. 

Bard wondered if elves could even sweat, and what did he smell like to their King, who never seemed to break a bead of perspiration, despite being pressed to an overheated human. Safety, perhaps. Whatever Thranduil thought of his smell, it seemed to amount to security, because being by Bard’s side was the only thing capable of calming down the elf’s nerves and letting him rest through the nights.

But then there were other night as well, when Bard just couldn’t tell if he was being teased or if Thranduil truly didn’t know what he was doing to him. It seemed kind of impossible that the Elven King was unaware of the desire he was kindling between his human bedmate’s legs. With all the clutching, caressing, rubbing and occasional tiny kisses planted over Bard’s bare shoulders, neck and jaw, it was getting harder and harder for the former bargeman to get any rest in the King’s bed. No pun intended.

It made Bard’s blood boil, his breath hitch and his desire flag despite his best attempts to subdue it. On a few occasions Thranduil’s leg or hand would brush it and it would take Bard all of his self control not to roll them over, pin the elf to the bed underneath him and show him why he should never play with fire. Somehow he managed to stay immobile or move as the Elven King wanted him to move, usually just to guide him to his side, so that Thranduil could embrace him from behind and not have to deal with his erection.

But it was funny, Bard thought as he allowed Thranduil to once again roll him over, tuck an arm under his neck and use the other one to pull him flush against his clothed chest, while his fingers caressed Bard’s naked skin and played with the short curls of hair they found over his breast. Weren’t elves supposed to dislike contact? All tales said that elves were stingy with their affections, yet Thranduil’s behaviour was nothing like that. Sure, during the day Bard rarely saw him, but the Elven King’s nights were all, without exception, Bard’s.

There was something fishy about the entire ordeal, and it seemed to extend well beyond a phobia of dragons. And as much as Bard wished that he hadn't been involved, he knew that if he ever wanted to sleep in his own bed, close to his children and regain any sense of normalcy again, he would have to get to the bottom of the Elven King’s issues. And so, despite knowing that he was delving with both hands into a hornet's’ nest, he decided to make it his mission to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaah!!! Thank you so much for the comments on the first chapter!!! Hope you like this instalment and sorry if there are a lot of stupid errors - I have a massive headache the size of the moon, because I'm taking some strong meds and I'm kind of out of it. I don't know if I managed to do a good job editing this, but I'll post it anyway, so that I don't keep you waiting :D

It was too warm in Thranduil’s chamber. Nothing much had changed in that respect even though months had passed and Spring was already tentatively sneaking its way into Mirkwood.

By this point Bard should have been used to the annoyance of being on the Elven King’s beck and call night after night. But he wasn’t, and lying immobile with Thranduil’s arms around him hadn’t gotten any easier for many reasons.

On that night he was drowsy, slipping in and out of consciousness for what felt like hours, without managing to fall asleep. He thought that he had heard his name uttered. Not his title, just his name, which in and of itself was strange. The King rarely addressed him as anything other than _Dragonslayer_. 

“Hm?” He murmured, not bothering to attempt any movement. 

Thranduil did not stir behind him. For a moment Bard thought that perhaps he had been dreaming. That is, until he felt a tired exhale tickling the sensitive skin between his shoulderblades.

“How do you like the Woodland Realm?” 

Thranduil’s question came out of the blue and his tone was conversation, as if they were two friends picking up a conversation after a short pause. 

It was not as if Thranduil had spoken casually in the middle of the night, after hours of silence while Bard was supposedly asleep. Definitely not like the question had no right to be there, while they were in the middle of an awkward _something_ , which they did night after night, but never verbally addressed. The King’s behaviour did not seem at all presumptions or outlandish to Bard. Not one bit. Really.

So, if you haven’t guessed it already, at that point in the story, Bard was dangerously close to having a brain aneurysm.

 _‘What in all of Middle Earth is wrong with elves?!’_ Bard fumed internally. 

“I guess I…” Bard’s voice sounded husky with disuse. He had been silent for hours and now this. 

Thranduil waited. 

“I think…” 

Bard was struggling. It was hard to find anything good to say about Mirkwood and his experience there, given just how angry at Thranduil he had become. Nevertheless, he summoned all the good memories he had collected through the passing months and managed to come up with: 

“I like it here. My children like it here... We are safe.”

Once he had managed a few words, it was easier to continue, as more and more thoughts of the things that he should be grateful for started to come.

“The quarters you have given us are fit for nobles.” Bard said. “We have never had so much space to call our own. Tilda can run around those rooms until she gets tired.” 

He paused to think for a second.

“The food here is really nice.” He added. “I really like the roast bore. I think I’ve eaten more meat in the time I’ve spent here than I have in my entire life...”

Bard’s voice faltered, realising just how small and plebeian the reasons for his happiness sounded. Then again, perhaps they had a right to be. He had been born a poor fisherman’s son and growing up he had become a widowed bargeman with three kids to feed. Things like sufficient food and a secure home had been his only aspirations for a long time before Thorin’s company came along and everything changed. He did not feel a need to feel ashamed for it.

“So your quarters and the roast bore are your favorite things about my Kingdom?” Thranduil asked from his position lying behind Bard’s back. There was nothing mocking in his tone, only a slight inflection of interest.

“Actually, not really. No.” Bard said, for once not bothering to care of the King’s opinion of him, as his thoughts genuinely turned towards the answer of the question. “I appreciate those things a lot, but my favorite things… I suppose I like the beauty of this place. The _architecture_.”

Bard hesitated, uncertain if he was using the right term. But Thranduil seemed to be nodding behind him, listening without interruption, so the man continued:

“The way your halls are carved into the stone of this mountain, all the statues, those columns shaped like trees… I like how they have leaves, little flowers and even birds… This whole place is a masterpiece.”

He could almost feel the satisfaction and approval radiating from the elf behind him, as he listened to Bard.

“Many elven stonemasons worked on these halls’ formation for centuries. They sang the stones and the roots of the living trees into shape and form until this palace was built.” Thranduil said once he was certain that Bard had finished.

“They did a good job.” Bard said, somewhat unnecessarily, just to keep the conversation going. 

“And what about your least favorite things?” Thranduil prompted, surprising the man further with the choice of question.

Bard didn’t suppose that the King wanted to hear anything bad about his Kingdom. He kind of imagined that someone like Thranduil would not bear criticism. 

_‘Least favorite?’_ Bard wondered, his mouth sealing tightly in a frown, which he hoped the elf couldn’t see. _‘How about the feeling of being a stranger. The lack of understanding. The isolation… You. This authority you have. The absolute control you hold over me... Can I even say to you these things to you? Where should I start!?’_

He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat as his thoughts returned straight to his earlier aggravation. 

Through the months Bard had been steadily growing more and more tired and angry with the Elven King’s strange antics and his own inability to find a productive way to address the issue. He did not want to be the equivalent of a safety blanket for the rest of his life. He was more than that and he deserved to be treated as a person. 

And despite his infelicitous attraction to the mind-blowingly gorgeous King of the Elves, in that moment, feeling Thranduil’s patient attention on him, those long-fingered hands softly holding him in what would effectively turn into an iron trap the moment he tried to shrug free, Bard was infuriated beyond reason.

“This.” Bard said between clenched teeth. “What happens here, in this room, in your bed.”

Thranduil’s breath hitching was clearly audible in the nighttime air. The hands that had been a light presence over his skin, suddenly turned rigid and cold, like the branches of an old dry tree. 

“I’m not a toy, Thranduil.” Bard said, turning within the confines The Elven King’s arms to face those striking blue eyes. 

For a long moment Thranduil looked absolutely petrified. And then his arms were drawn away and so was his body.

“No. You are not.” He said sitting up and looking away, voice little more than a whisper.

“Then stop treating me as one!” Bard sat up as well, feeling his voice come out of his chest with more force than intended. 

When Thranduil’s eyes returned to his, they were full of danger and cold fury. 

“Have I mistreated you so grievously?” He asked and his tone was deceptively calm.

“I understand that I’m your subject and that I have duties in this Kingdom,” Bard began, trying to keep his voice steady, “but calling me here in the middle of the night, holding me like a lover, yet treating me like little more than another one of your many pillows - you don’t speak to me, you don’t tell me what this is all about or what you need from me... You can’t do that! You can’t order me to just lie down here and let you do that!”

“I will not order you anymore then.” Thranduil hissed and the realisation of just how much he had overstepped hit Bard like a sledgehammer. 

Never before had he been at the receiving end of the King’s anger, but he had seen enough to know that he should dread it. Yet Thranduil’s next words drained all of the adrenaline away and replaced it with sheer shock by what was being said:

“If you will not take my orders willingly, then I will not give them at all.” The Elven King said, his eyes and his voice firm. “You can go or stay as you please.”

Bard’s eyes widened as he grasped the meaning of those words. 

“So, if I want to go now…” Bard breathed disbelievingly, slowly pushing the covers away and slipping further back on the bed. “Will you allow me to leave?”

Thranduil did not respond, but his eyes turned away to stare past Bard into nothing at all. 

Not needing further confirmation, the man moved to the edge of the bed where he swung his bare feet to the floor. 

“I do not order you to stay.” Thranduil’s strong voice stopped him again just as his toes touched the warm wood bellow. It was dark and deep, like the waters of the lake upon which Bard had grown up. “But I ask you. Stay. Please.”

The last word held Bard frozen where he was, sitting with his back to the Elven King.

He knew he could go - get up and leave, return to his kids and be over with it. Thranduil’s troubles were not his responsibility, and if he turned his back on them now, he knew for a fact, that he would never be summoned to the royal quarters again.

However, despite spending months telling himself that he hated everything about his special predicament, Bard found himself hesitating. He did not truly want to leave things be. He couldn’t leave, not at that point, because he had started to care. Maybe he always had. But he couldn’t continue to do it on those terms either. 

“If I stay,” Bard took a deep breath, looking at Thranduil over his bare shoulder. “I need you to tell me the truth. What happened to you?”

Just as expected, Thranduil’s eyes turned from neutral to angry in a heartbeat. But just as quickly as it had happened, the fury washed away into an age-old tiredness, which then plunged into a resigned sorrow, the kind that knew no cure, no consolation. 

“Do you really have to ask?” Thranduil sighed and his eyes lowered to examine the disarray of pillows and blankets, which lay between them.

“I know it’s the dragons, I figured as much.” Bard pressed on. Something about Thranduil was tired and broken and that single moment of vulnerability was likely the only chance for a truthful answer that he was ever going to get, so he pressed on. “But I don’t understand why do you fear them, and why now?”

“Why now?” Thranduil laughed hollowly and his eyes returned to Bard’s. Their light seemed all but extinguished, just a shadow of their usual flame; a dull, lifeless blue, poisoned by centuries of restraint. “It’s because they are coming. Because I saw one.”

“Haven’t you seen them before?” Bard asked dubiously.

“I have seen them.” Thranduil said and his voice lowered to a growl or a hiss, Bard couldn’t even tell. Because suddenly, a wound had opened on the Elven King’s smooth face and it was growing in size, just as Bard’s eyes were doing in that moment. It grew to swallow half of Thranduil’s face, burning through his flesh until it withered away skin and tendons, revealing nothing but naked bones, blackened and burned like coals.

Bard spun around, mouth hanging open, every muscle tight and ready to fight or take flight. But Thranduil continued to talk, despite the injury and Bard just watched in utter horror as he said:

“I’ve faced the fire-breathing drakes of the north long ago. And this…” Thranduil hissed in pain, “is the result.”

Before Bard’s heart managed to beat its way out of his chest, Thranduil’s skin returned back to normal and the Elven King turned his body away, his white-gold hair hiding his expression from the human’s eyes.

In the aftermath, Bard found himself controlling his breath, trying to keep it down as if not to disturb the perilous silence that had descended between them. He willed his fingers to relax where they had been gripping the bedcovers, and slowly, warily, putting hand before a knee and then again, crawled over the bed towards the Elven King.

He stopped just an arm's reach from Thranduil's back, still so rigid and straight, clad in that ridiculous night-dress. There were so many questions in Bard’s head, and yet all he managed to say was:

“Com’ere.” 

And that’s how Bard, the man who had lived on the Lake, toiled away on a barge, fought and slain two dragons and had almost became King of Dale, ended up being the (slightly too) willing bedmate of the Elven King of Mirkwood.

Because when Thranduil returned to his embrace that night, Bard did not simply lay on his back or face away. Things needed to be different and he wanted to set the tone right from the start. So he turned on his side to face Thranduil, and they laid like that for a while, mirroring each other, with gazes locked in an strangely familiar intimacy.

“May I touch you?” Bard asked, since he had yet to lay a hand on his beautiful sovereign through the entirety of their bizarre arrangement. Somehow he had always assumed that he was not allowed and the hesitation he could see in Thranduil’s eyes seemed to only prove his point.

“You may touch me without permission. Here I shall be no king of yours.” Thranduil answered and a slow, genuine smile broke through the months of worry and doubts that had clouded Bard’s countenance.

Slowly, savouring every motion, he placed his hand on the light cotton sleeve of Thranduil’s robe. Bard’s fingers followed the elegant expanse of his arm, much like the King had done to him on their first night on that bed.

Feeling the warmth of the elf’s body beneath his fingertips sent a rush of desire straight to Bard’s groin. He fought to control it, focusing on the scrape of his skin against the Elven King’s nightgown and the way it bunched and dragged over the smooth muscles beneath. The way Thranduil shifted under the caress, arching like a cat before sinking deeper into the pillows, made Bard bite his lower lip and hold his breath. Slowly he placed the flat of his palm against the elf’s back and pulled him closer until they were nearly nose to nose.

“I meant what I said to you before.” Bard whispered, if only to hide the tremor of want from his voice. “I will not let anything hurt you, be it dragon or otherwise.”

“Yes, you swore that you would repel anything that comes to my Kingdom with ill intent.” Thranduil’s smile was a bit sad. “And yet you have to spend more time protecting me from the demons of my mind.”

 _‘And even more time fighting a battle with myself.’_ Bard added in his thoughts.

“If only you could teach me how to fight creatures of the though,” he said. “it would make my job a lot easier.”

“If I knew how,” Thranduil looked away. “I wouldn’t be asking this of you.”

...

Did Bard kiss him? No, of course he did not. Something was holding him back.  
But fortunately, (or unfortunately, depending on your perspective again,) before this new routine settled into place, another dragon came to terrorise Mirkwood. And just in time for the Festival of the Coming Spring. 

Incredibly, Bard once again managed to kill it, this time without even a scratch, sending the significantly younger dragon to it’s death and winning even more favour from the woodland elves. 

The Festival that was held that year was therefore twice as significant, twice as opulent and twice as marry. The drinks flowed, the air was filled with songs and cheer as the elves celebrated in a large tree-less clearing in the heart of Mirkwood. Bonfires were lit, rolls upon rolls of tables were giving away under the weight of food and wine, and amidst the singing and music, Bard found himself drunk enough to join into the dances. Together with his children, they danced, holding to each other’s hands in a little circle of their own as they rolled around with familiar steps to the unfamiliar rhythm, happier than they ever had ever been at home.

“Time for bed, little firebug.” It was almost midnight and Tilda was falling asleep on her feet. 

Her father picked her up and she nodded off in his arms, while Sigrid and Bain tried to sneak away into the dancing crowd. 

“The same goes for you two” Bard called over his shoulder.

“But dad!” His two elder children cried in one voice.

“I’ll handle it from here.” Eagwen stepped in, taking Tilda’s small load from his hands.

“Thank you. I’m far too drunk to chase those two around.” Bard smiled ruefully, seeing Bain and Sigrid exchange conspiratory gazes before running off in two separate directions.

“I’ll get them to bed.” Eagwen promised. “Enjoy the celebration, Dragonslayer. You deserve it.”

The elleth smiled softly before turning away and carrying off his child back to their quarters. 

Much had changed in the past months for Bard, if he allowed a nanny, be it a beautiful woodland elf or otherwise, take care of his kids instead of him. But he trusted Eagwen, as he was beginning to trust and accept everything else in elven kingdom. He might have been feeling slightly sentimental. Or was it just the alcohol in his blood speaking?

Finally free of his fatherly responsibilities, Bard found himself besieged by one company of elves after another, as warriors and artisans alike wanted a piece of him. But while Bard was pretty much done speaking about dragons, the crowd was clearly insatiable of hearing his recollections over and over again, until he began wishing for an escape. 

As politely as possible, Bard ended one conversation after another, making his way further and further away from the majority of the merrymaking. However, when his mind caught up with the direction his steps had taken him, he wished to turn around and flee, but it was too late. The Elven King’s eyes were already on him, observing him expectantly from the nearby high table. 

Thranduil’s table was elevated about the rest, as was the custom, but it was now scarcely populated as many of the designated guests had left their places and went to mingle with the crowd. A few were still lingering on the far sides, but mostly the Elven King sat alone, observing the celebration with a look of quiet contentment and a glass of wine perpetually between his pale fingers.

Noticing Bard’s staring, Thranduil nodded slowly, beckoning the man to approach and join him in one of the empty chairs next to him. 

While ascending the wooden stairs that lead up the platform, the former bargeman's heart was beating fast, an irrational anxiety of being raised above the rest to join the King at his table, swelling in his chest. 

It was strange. Had Bard not spent his nights holding that elf through the worst of his terrors? He had, but Bard supposed that here it was different. In Thranduil’s bed, he no longer had to deal with the King. But in front of all his subjects, Thranduil was nothing but razor-sharp authority and regal splendour.

Swallowing his nervousness, Bard approached the middle of the long table, walking a bit unsteadily over the wooden planks until he reached the king’s high-back chair. 

“Would you join me?” Thranduil gestured towards the seat next to him.

Bard pulled a chair by its back and sat down on the Elven King’s right. The table had long been cleared from the remains of the meal and as soon as Bard propped his elbow against its clean surface an attendant appeared to place a glass to his side and fill it to the brim.

“Thank you… my Lord.” Bard said, taking a quick gulp of wine to fortify himself.

A small smile flickered over the Elven King’s mouth before he turned his attention once again to the lively celebration beneath the stars. 

“I trust that my subjects haven’t been too overbearing tonight?” Thranduil asked after a while, another smile appearing on his face and his eyes sparkling as he glanced in Bard’s direction.

The man huffed out a laugh. Overbearing was a small word for elven curiosity and the interrogations he had endured. 

“Am I not your subject, my Lord?” Bard countered.

“By our laws, you are my subject. You have given me your vows and you fulfil your duties towards my Kingdom. Although,” Thranduil’s eyes deliberately met his. “At times I wonder if you would ever truly submit yourself to me.”

Those words reignited the unwanted sparks of desire, which Bard fought so hard to suppress. 

“You have my loyalty, and my respect.” Bard said, his voice dropping low. “You are my ruler in a way that the Master never was. However, I cannot lie. I don’t know how to belong to another man. My will is forever my own.”

Thranduil’s lips were parted and there was surprise and amusement written all over his fine features. But there was something else as well. Those blue eyes were dark and the smirk playing at the corner of his mouth suggested that he was enjoying Bard’s defiance a little too much.

“Perhaps that’s what makes your loyalty so valuable.” He said quietly, leaning across the small space until Bard could smell the fruity notes of the wine on his breath.

“Let’s toast to that?” Bard suggested, lifting his glass between them, in an attempt to calm his racing heart and give his body something else to do rather than hauling the King of the Elves by the front of his robes and ravaging his mouth in front of the whole Kingdom.

Thankfully, Thranduil broke the tension by answering his toast. He took a long sip of the wine before he leaning back into his seat to observe the festivities once more. 

Bard hurried to finish his own glass quickly, wishing to disappear from the King’s side before he managed to do something that he’d regret. Once his drink was empty he rose from his chair, legs wobbly and world blurring pleasantly. 

“I think it’s about time I seek out my bed.” Bard said. “I’ve drank too much and if I don’t stop now, I would probably end up sleeping beneath your fine table.”

“In that case, we may leave.” Thranduil answered and gracefully rose up from his chair as well.

“Umgh…” Bard stumbled, not certain if he had heard right, but any doubt that he may have had disappeared in the next moment when Thranduil took his elbow and guided him down the stairs of the platform.

The turn they took, did not lead to Thranduil’s royal chambers. Instead the Elven King walked with Bard through the familiar passages to his personal quarters. When they reached the doorless gate of his family’s complex, Thranduil’s guards lined up by the entrance and remained there, while the King supported the human further inside, taking him straight to the man’s bedchamber.  


“Well, that’s me…” Bard said somewhat uselessly. He tried to retain a sense of normalcy even though the King of the Elves was standing in his room, and Bard somehow knew that he wasn’t about to turn around and leave after having walked Bard to his bed.

Thranduil did not answer, instead he allowed the man to pull his arm from his grasp and take a few unsteady steps towards the bed. He collapsed on top, falling backwards onto the mattress and remained there with his eyes closed. 

“Won’t you change at least?” He heard Thranduil’s voice.

“I can’t…” Bard sighed deeply, kicking his boots off and then his feet up on the bed as he rolled to the middle of it, making space for the Elven King. 

Thranduil, still fully clad in flowing robes that looked more expensive than Laketown and Dale put together, made to lie on the bed next to him. With his eyes closed, Bard felt him shift closer until he was next to Bard, facing him.

“If you want, you can borrow something from my wardrobe to wear.” Bard popped one eye open to meet the elf’s blue ones, which had been surveying his face. 

Thranduil looked exquisite on that night. He was dressed for the coming spring, wearing a new crown made of the first budding branches and the earliest woodland flowers. The spring crown upon his white-gold hair made him look somewhat kinder, sweeter, but by no means any less formidable and authoritative.

“I doubt your garments would fit me.” Thranduil said, his hand raising to trace down the line of the fastenings of Bard’s collar. His fingers paused once they reached the man’s still clothed chest.

“Yeah, they probably won’t.” Bard exhaled deeply, feeling the familiar heat starting to pool beneath his clothes. 

Perhaps it wasn’t just the fires that made Thranduil’s quarters feel so hot. Maybe it was the King himself that got Bard’s blood boiling.

“You are not felling warm tonight?” The elf asked.

Huffing a bit, Bard propped himself up to unbutton his heavy overcoat and pull it out from underneath him. Thranduil simply waited as Bard shrugged out of his shirt and pants next, remaining only in his skin and the small cotton underclothes that preserved his modesty. 

Relaxing back down, Bard realised that he had never been so exposed to the Elven King’s eyes. He had always kept his night trousers on and hid the majority of his skin beneath the many covers of Thranduil’s bed. However now, there was little left to the imagination, with his body all but revealed, and only a small portion of him still covered.  


Thranduil didn’t even pretend to avert his eyes. His blue irises were shuttered by those long dark eyelashes as they wandered low, tracing over Bard’s bare body. He could almost feel the caress of the elf’s gaze as it slowly roamed over the hard lines of muscle and sinew, which raised and dipped the man’s tanned skin.

Bard had to look away before his desire got the better of him.

“I’ve heard my guards talking about you.” Thranduil said, his eyes still lazily examining the contours of Bard’s well-formed torso.

The human made a non-commitment noise and closed his eyes, trying hard to ignore the weight of Thranduil’s attention on him.

“Many speak with lust about you.” The King continued quietly, and the word _lust_ falling from his lips sent the first undeniable pang of arousal straight to Bard’s groin.

Bard parted his mouth, his lungs burning for air. How could Thranduil do this to him with just one word?! 

“I thought elves thought that humans are ugly.” He rasped breathlessly, daring to look at the Elven King.

“Some humans are, for certain. Not all.” Thranduil said and Bard couldn’t help but laugh. Leave it to an elf to insult an entire race with such unapologetic ease.

“And what do you think?” Bard ventured, alluding to Thranduil’s earlier comment, despite his common sense telling him that it was a terrible idea to flirt with the Elven King.

“I think…” Thranduil trailed off and Bard realised that he had never seen the elf hesitate about anything, least of all about his own opinions.

“I think that I should be grateful either way.” Thranduil said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “That you are here, and that you’ve fulfilled your promise to me for the second time today.”

“I’m here.” Bard replied just as quietly. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

This time Thranduil completely surprised him. Without a warning, Bard was pulled into the elf’s arms and rolled until he was lying flush on top of him. 

“What are you doing?” Bard hissed breathlessly.

Thranduil’s hand found Bard’s.

“Isn’t that how humans do it?” Thranduil breathed and he twisted under Bard, pushing the upper layers of his robes away until he could sneak Bard’s hand underneath the heavy material and guide it to feel the clothed lines of his chest.

After months of yearning for this, Bard could hardly believe that it was actually happening, but something was stopping him and he asked:

“Wait, Thranduil! Are you sure you want this?” 

Thranduil’s irregular breaths were coming fast and his eyes were wide, filled with lust and want of his own. Seeing him like that was almost painful for Bard.

“Yes.” Thranduil panted. “Yes, I am certain. I want this.”

Their closeness was too much for Bard to think clearly. He had to sit up, and straddled over Thranduil’s hips as he were, the bulge straining between his legs was right there on display for the Elven King to see. And Thranduil did see it, judging by the way his wide eyes immediately snapped down to look at its contours stretching the thin white material of Bard’s smallclothes.

“This isn’t about the dragon that I slew today, right?” Bard asked almost desperately. “Tell me it’s not because of that!”

“It’s… not because of that.” Thranduil breathed, but his hesitation was exactly what Bard didn’t want to hear. “It’s not… that.”

Thranduil looked away and so did Bard. Perhaps the Elven King did not sound convincing even to himself. Bard sighed. The erection was still painfully obvious against his cotton underpants. His hairy, tanned legs stood out with such contrast against the fine material of Thranduil’s robes. A bargeman straddling an Elven King. What a sight they made…

“No.” He breathed, feeling tired and sober, disappointment weighing him down with the burden of a thousand years. “This is not how humans do it.”

Thranduil’s confused frown and the sadness that flashed over his hurt expression made something twist painfully in Bard’s chest. He cared. Way too much.

“We usually start...” He said, leaning down over the Elven King. “With something like this...”

Bard kissed him, tasting Thranduil’s lips slowly with all the desire and love that burned deep within his heart. After a moment the elf responded, opening his mouth and allowing the human to drag his teeth over his lips, flick his tongue between them and tentatively taste the inside of his mouth.

Thranduil shuddered and arched up into the kiss, seeking more, but after a moment Bard pulled away and slid off the elf. He lied back down on his side and pulled the sheets over his body to calm down his excitement and put a barrier between their bodies.

“Bard…” Thranduil gasped.

“We are not doing this tonight.” Bard said. “I’m too drunk and my kids are just around the corner.”

“That didn’t seem to concern you a few moments ago.” Thranduil responded, sounding bitter and disappointed.

“Yes, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. And neither are you now.” Bard turned his head slightly to catch a glimpse of the elf’s displeased expression. “If we do this, we do this sober. Alright?”

Thranduil huffed, but when Bard turned, he heard him sliding off of his robes and discarding them on the floor before crawling under the covers and snuggling next to Bard.

“I never thought I’d live to see the day I would take orders from a human.” The Elven King sighed as he wrapped his arms around Bard and pulled him closer. 

“No one is issuing any orders here.” Bard turned to face the elf and return his embrace. “I thought we made that clear.”

Thranduil only smiled and tucked his head under Bard’s chin, wrapping his taller body around the human’s. 

“Goodnight.” Bard whispered, pressing his lips to Thranduil’s silky blonde hair.

The elf responded softly in his own lilting language. Words that sounded beautiful, but Bard could not understand.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the sweet comments!!! This chapter is entirely comprised of smutt, so you can easily skip it if you're not into that.

On the next morning Bard wasn't surprised nor charmed to find himself hungover and alone. Thranduil had slipped away sometime in the night, or the morning, which was even more likely, given the day had already rolled into late afternoon by the time Bard dragged himself out of bed.

There was no need to rush, so Bard took his time to get refreshed, have lunch with his children and get dressed in the sturdy elven leather armour, which he was required to wear to his job. Then, as was customary for his routine, he headed up the nearly endless flights of stairs to the outpost on the top of the hill, under which Thranduil's halls were carved. 

The air outside was still quite frosty, regardless of spring’s tentative attempts to set foot in the forests. Therefore, Bard shamelessly wrapped himself in several additional layers on top of his elven outfit. If elves frowned at the worn fur cloak around his shoulders, the shabby scarf that protected his neck, or his stitched up fingerless gloves, it was their problem. Bard had never been too sensitive in regards to fashion.

While he made his accent through the endless tunnels and passages of the Woodland Realm, Bard was surprised to feel a strong drift of icy air blowing from the top of the winding stairs. When he finally reached the stone platform on the hilltop, he discovered the heavy fortified door left opened and the wind blowing down into the tunnels of Thranduil’s palace with such force, it was hard to make the last few steps over the threshold. Finally outside, Bard strained to push the heavy door back into its place, cutting off the drift with a sigh.

The wall seemed utterly deserted. That in itself wasn't so uncustomary - usually only birds were his companions so high up over the forest. The few elves that came up to the Dragonslayer's post never staid a while and always closed the door behind them. 

 _'Someone must have gotten too drunk last night.'_ Bard thought, dismissing the topic from his mind and making a few steps over to the ledge of the sky-high battlements. The gale coming from the mountains was freezing and the surface of the stones glittered with a light sheen of frost. 

Bard shivered and pulled the fur cloak more snugly around his shoulders. However, regardless of what he had told Thranduil months ago, he enjoyed going to his post when it wasn't unbearably cold. More often than not, living underground in the Elven palace, Bard missed the solitary hours spent on the lake, when he had driven his barge over quiet waters, alone under the endless blue of the sky.

Such luxury was now only available to him when he went to the hilltop. On a clear day he could even see the Lake and Dale far off to the East, think of his home and wonder if he would ever get to return to his people.

However, this time Bard was not as alone as he had initially supposed. Just as he began his customary walk around the hilltop, skipping up the steps to a higher level bastion, Bard looked up from his feet to see a familiar figure leaning on the battlements.

Solitary and lovely stood the Elven King, looking over the fortifications at his Kingdom. Bard had never seen him up there before and it was quite a surprising sight to witness given Thranduil was the last person you’d expect perching up on a wind-blown hilltop. Despite the frosty gale the King stood clad only in flowing robes of sky blue and pale green, wrapped in the radiance of the slowly setting sun, which cast his pale-golden hair aflame as it lit him up from behind. The Spring crown of flowers and blossoming branches once again stood atop his beautiful head, occasionally raining petals picked up by the wind, along with fine strands of his long hair. Thranduil must have stood there for a while, since his skin was almost snow-white from the chill, with the exception of the slight pink flush on the tips of his ears and his high cheekbones, which only helped to accentuate the blue of his eyes. Seeing him like that simply took Bard's breath away. 

“My King.” Bard greeted as he landed on Thranduil’s level and slowed down his approach.

“Dragonslayer.” Thranduil nodded and Bard had to stop at a respectful distance away from his ruler.

“Umgh… What are you doing here?” Bard asked and cringed at his own informality. During the day Thranduil was nothing less but his King, regardless of what happened between them when darkness shrouded the world. In the sunlight certain things were more clear. Like whom was the King and whom the human living in his realm and serving his will. And yet, it was almost impossible for Bard to simply revert back to the formal way of speaking after… after, let's say, they had drunkenly made out on Bard’s bed the previous night.

“I came to see how hard you are labouring to protect my Kingdom.” The Elven King stated with the hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “I may have overestimated your efforts.”

Thranduil’s teasing was so unexpected that it took Bard a moment to understand it for what it was. However, once he did, he answered with a small chuckle, lips tugging up into a lopsided grin of his own. It was a big relief that they didn’t have to continue in a stiff formal tone between them.

“The dragons know better than to come before I’ve had my lunch.” Bard said, raising his eyebrows in mock sincerity. “I may be fierce on a normal day, but when I’m hungry and hungover at the same time, you will find my attitude merciless and terrible. Even dragons know to avoid that.”

Thranduil huffed out a laugh, a quiet sound, which made Bard’s heart swell.

“Is that so?” The elf turned to lean on his side against the battlements. There was a playful slant to his head and his hips, one that was strangely just as becoming on such a powerful and stern creature, as his regal posture and brutal strength. “Then perhaps, I made a wise decision this morning, when I left before you awoke.”

Bard’s heart nearly skipped a beat at the mention of what had been at the forefront of his mind the entire time. He had wondered if Thranduil would ever address it or forever avoid the fact that it had happened. What they had done the previous night. How the Elven King seemed to have wanted him...

“Or perhaps your absence has only contributed to my foul mood today.” Bard quirked an eyebrow, taking slow, deliberate steps towards the Elven King and leaning on the same ledge that Thranduil had chosen.

“And how could I have improved your disposition?” Thranduil asked and Bard knew an opening when he got one, so he didn't waste any more time stalling with games. Time that could have brought an unwanted spectator to interrupt them. So instead he boldly traversed the last few steps and wrapped his arms around the Elven King, claiming his mouth.

The frosty wind rose around them, picking up strands of their hair and lashing their faces with it as they kissed. Thranduil’s hands cupped the sides of his jaw, holding on to him and pulling him closer. Bard wasn't certain what they were doing any more or what any of it was supposed to mean, but one thing was undeniable, and that was that the Elven King was kissing him with passion and that it was all that Bard had wanted for a long time.

The man threaded his fingers through the Elven King's fine hair, feeling the cold already numbing his exposed fingertips, ears and cheeks, but he did not care, because on the inside he was burning up. Thranduil’s skin was cool to the touch, chilled by being outside for a while, but he didn't shiver and the inside of his mouth was hot and wet that Bard couldn't stop for the life of him.

Thranduil pulled away first, but the look he gave Bard spoke as loudly as words that they were not even nearly finished yet.

“Are you sober?” He asked and for a moment Bard’s brain failed to make sense of the random question, so he just nodded affirmatively. And then... _Wait._

“And your children are nowhere near, I believe.“ Thranduil added giving Bard a knowing smile as he bit his lower lip.

Bard’s jaw nearly dropped, suddenly realising where that was going. 

“You’ve lost your mind.” He gasped.

“You might be right.” The Elven King agreed and hauled the human by shoulders, guiding him away from the ledge until Bard’s back pressed against a corner in the fortification.

Trapped between two perpendicular walls and Thranduil’s body, Bard’s felt his heart drumming in his ears with a head-spinning mixture of arousal and trepidation. He glanced over the Elven King's shoulder to check if they were still infact alone as Thranduil’s slender fingers began working on the tiny clasps of his armour, quickly and efficiently undoing the ties that held the breastplate in place and loosening up the strings by the human’s hips.

"For goodness sakes, Thranduil..." Bard whispered, half-heartedly bating his hands away. "It's freezing cold up here!"

"I'll keep you warm." The elf smirked cheekily.

“Oh fuck,” Bard gasped, all fight going out of him as Thranduil’s hands undid the tassets, letting them fall on the ground before ghosting over the laces of his leather trousers.

Doing it out in the open, where any random guard could march in on the sight of the Elven King undressing the Dragonslayer against the wall... Well, as wrong as that sounded, the idea made Bard so hard, so fast that his knees went soft and his head felt dizzy. 

Just as those fingers grazed over the quickly swelling hardness in his pants, Bard thought he heard something fall behind the corner and tried to see if anyone was coming.

“Thranduil!” He gasped breathlessly, his hands stiff and uncooperative in his weak attempts to pause the Elven King's ministrations. 

“Just the wind.” Thranduil whispered and dove into an assault on Bard’s neck, yanking the scarf out of the way with his free hand before gripping Bard’s chin and tilting his head out of his mouth’s way.

Bard shuddered with need as the Elven King’s lips began laying opened mouthed kisses just under his jaw and licking down the stubble of his neck. Thranduil seemed to be enjoying the human's beard just a little too much, not missing an opportunity to mouth at Bard's chin and rub the bridge of his nose against his sideburns with ever increasing enthusiasm.

“You can’t be serious… ” Bard panted, breaking into a succession of breathless groans as the palm of Thranduil's other hand rubbed the bulge between his legs.

The Elven King's only answer was to press Bard flush against the wall with his body. And if the tell-tale hardness that rubbed against Bard's hip was any indication, Thranduil was very serious.

Next thing you know, Bard was grabbed around the waist and seemingly effortlessly manoeuvred to lie down on the ice-cold stones underneath. Finding himself flat on his back, staring up at the beautiful elf who clearly desired him, Bard could hardly comprehend that any of it was real. Thranduil loomed on his hands and knees above him, and the only thing behind him was a navy blue sky littered with tiny clouds coloured in all sorts of fiery shades from the setting sun. The Elven King leaned down to kiss him and his long locks cascaded like a golden waterfall around Bard’s face. And in that moment Bard was helpless - he couldn't fight back. All he could do was reach up to run his fingers through the Elven King’s hair and cup the back of his head, guiding him in for another kiss.

Finally Thranduil unlaced Bard’s trousers and pushed them aside. His hand gripped the man's straining erection and began to stroke.

“Oh Valar mercy!” Bard cried. His spine arched from the ground and his head fell back in a moment of pleasure so instense, it was almost like agony.

“Do you want me to stop?” Thranduil asked, slacking his hold on Bard’s member and pausing his movements.

Bard’s grabbed Thranduil’s hand and guided it back to his cock where he closed it once again around his girth and set it on a new, harder rhythm. The Elven King’s eyebrows rose and there was a small, awed smile tugging on his lips as he stared at Bard as if he had never seen anything more amazing or beautiful in his life.

“Never.” Bard rasped. “I don’t ever want you to stop.”

Thranduil kissed him back, deeper this time, and Bard pushed up into the kiss as their intertwined hands moved faster over his cock, making the human shudder and moan into the kiss.

Bard surged up and reversed their positions, rolling on top of Thranduil who looked like something from a fantasy with his long blonde hair spilling out beneath him. The delicate flowers of his crown were shedding their little white petals across the harsh grey stone-laid floor and the elf’s cheeks and lips were flushing pink as he stared up at Bard with those ah-not-so-innocent blue eyes.

Bard could have admired him forever, but he had something better in mind. His work-hardened fingers were impatient but not clumsy as he made quick work of shoving layers upon layers of cloth aside, undoing ties and clasps in a hurry, while the Elven King wriggled underneath him, helping him out with the tricky parts of his lavish robes.

Finally Bard’s efforts paid off when he pulled the last folds apart and revealed the first sight of smooth skin underneath. He could see a strip of exposed flesh running all the way from Thranduil’s neck down to his navel. Bard pushed the now parted robes aside until he had the elf’s torso and shoulders exposed to the crispy early spring air before leaning in to kiss him. He laid worship over his neck, then moved lower towards the elf's fine collarbones and then even lower, further down the line of the centre of his torso.

Thranduil’s breathing sped up to almost a frantic rhythm as Bard kissed his way down his body, his hands working the fastenings of the King’s trousers. Bard pulling the material down until the elf’s cock sprung out from its confines. The Elven King gasped loudly and that was all the man needed to dive down directly and wrap his lips around his straining cock, tasting him without even a moment of hesitation.

The feeling of having another male’s erection in his mouth was strange, but not at all unpleasant and it didn’t take long for Bard to start devouring the Elven King in earnest, sucking and slurping shamelessly, hollowing out his cheeks for Thranduil’s pleasure until the King was buckling up and crying out in ecstasy.

Bard clamped his fingers around the base of the elf’s pulsating cock, squeezing a little too hard, to prevent the spill of his seed as Thranduil trashed and panted in desperate need for more.

“Not yet, my heart.” Bard breathed, his voice hoarse from the way he had used up his throat and the burning need that he had been ignoring within himself.

Thranduil didn’t respond, too busy trying to catch his breath and regain at least a grain of his legendary composure. It seemed that all pretence had been blown away from the Elven King, who was lying on the ground ruined and utterly undone, rolling halfway on his side to press his heated features against the stone underneath.

Bard used the opportunity to pull him up by the hips and flip him over, until Thranduil was on his elbows and knees before him. The man didn’t bother trying to undress him, instead he only pulled down the elf’s pants lower down his pale thighs, sweeping away the folds of his long robes away until he got a clear view of the Elven King’s firm ass.

Thranduil let out a choked cry at the treatment, no doubt a overwhelmed or embarrassed by the position, but when Bard’s hand found its way between the elf’s legs, fisting his weeping cock and slowly starting to pump, all protests died on the elf’s lips.

“You are mine now.” Bard whispered, pushing his own pants and armour out of the way, until his engorged member was exposed to the evening air. Thankfully with his cloak still hanging around his frame, the wind didn’t manage to freeze it off, which was a very real concern given the way the temperatures seemed to be quickly dropping further as the sun headed towards its nightly demise.

Nevertheless, Bard slipped off his gloves. Having nothing better around, he spat on his hand before caressing his way between the Elven King’s legs and tracing his fingers up to the tight little hole, which he found between his cheeks. Thranduil gave a shudder and exhaled shakily, swaying a little bit away in discomfort, so Bard slowed down and simply circled his fingertip lightly around the tiny muscle ring, all the while pumping the elf’s dick slowly.

It didn’t take long for Thranduil’s shudders to turn from nervous to needy as pleasure and desire won over his reservations and the elf canted his hips a little, giving Bard more access to the spot he was so patiently massaging. Feeling the King’s confidence increase, Bard tentatively pressed one fingertip into his ass, slowly fucking him with it until Thranduil was gasping and spreading his legs further.

“You want more, don’t you?” Bard asked huskily, taking care not to speed up his movements despite the impatience building up in his gut.

Thranduil made a strangled noise and nodded, before pressing his face into his hands. Not needing more encouragement, the human carefully pressed in another finger, feeling Thranduil’s muscles stretch to accommodate it without much resistance. The Elven King shook from head to toe, aroused beyond words. His cock leaked so much precum, it was dripping from Bard’s fingers.

“Do all elves like to rut outdoors or is it just you?” Bard chuckled, taking back his hand from Thranduil’s cock and smearing the clear liquid of the elf’s precum over his own erection to use instead of lube.

“Shut that filthy mouth...” Thranduil ordered and he looked up indignantly from where he had braced himself against the stone floor. His blazing glare was somewhat ruined by the cute flush of his cheeks and the overall picture he was making did nothing to intimidate the human kneeling behind him. Quite the opposite.

“I thought you liked _that filthy mouth_.” Bard whispered, licking his lips where he could still taste the elf's flavour, and enjoying the look of embarrassment that flashed over Thranduil’s exquisite features.

The Elven King’s blush deepened and he looked away, the tight clench of his ass around Bard’s fingers betraying another pang of his arousal.

Bard pulled out his fingers, before spitting on them once again and running them over his now well lubricated cock.

“Would you like me to tell you what I’m going to do to you now?” Bard's voice lowered as he leaned down over Thranduil’s back to whisper in his pointy ear. “Or should I formally report it to you?”

“Bard…” Thranduil rasped pleadingly, shivering as the human’s lips grazed the sensitive tip of his ear.

“I’m going to put my cock in your ass.” Bard said and he rubbed the tip of his erection against Thranduil’s puckered entrance to emphasize his point. “I’m going to stuff it all the way in and ride you, until you are too full to breathe and too gone to think, talk or order me around. I’m going to fuck you until you cum.”

Thranduil gave a choking cry, his fingers digging into the ridges between the stones underneath him, his entire body shaking.

“Do it then!” The Elven King growled between heavy breaths. “Or must I _order_ you?”

Bard pressed the tip of his engorged cock against Thranduil’s entrance. He heard the elf gasp as he began to push in, guiding his dick with his hand into Thranduil's tight passage. The muscles of the elf’s ass finally relented against the invasion and Bard’s member slowly began entering him, stretching its way in further and further into the Elven King’s body. Thranduil gave a strangled groan, muttering elvish curses between the erratic breaths that rattled his body. Bard was half-way in when he had to pause for a moment, just to ensure he wouldn't accidentally blow his load. Once he had reigned in his breaths, Bard pushed even further in, forcing Thranduil to take more of him inside. The elf cried out and collapsed to the ground, lying flush on his front.

“I can’t…” Thranduil choked out, his quick breaths coming out in clouds in the freezing air around them.

“Just a little bit more…” Bard murmured, pinning the elf under his weight and entering him slowly.

Thranduil squirmed underneath him with nowhere to go. His ragged breathing was riddled with tiny moans that sounded more excited than pained as Bard finally filled him up to the hilt.

 “Relax, you are doing so good...” Bard whispered and waited for the elf to adjust before continuing. Thranduil's mouth was hanging opened and his eyes were firmly closed, shuddering and clenching around Bard's hardness.

“Ai Valar, oh” Thranduil rasped, his hips jerking instinctively to fuck himself on Bard’s cock. With each tiny movement his muscles relaxed further around the man’s girth.

Bard couldn’t hold back anymore. He pulled them up until the elf was on all fours and he was kneeling behind him. Slowly at first, he pulled out and thrust back in, making the Elven King keen with desire.

Digging his fingers into Thranduil’s hips to hold him steady, Bard quickly picked up the rhythm, pounding into the elf’s little hole again and again, while Thranduil's punctured cries of pleasure accompanied each thrust. Bard moved his other hand to grip the Elven King's hair, wrapping the long streaks of gold around his fist and giving an experimental tug, which made Thranduil shiver and let out a desperate groan, his hips slamming back to meet Bard’s thrusts.

 _Someone likes it rough,_ Bard smirked to himself, loving this new side of Thranduil and wanting nothing more than to oblige his every desire, fuck him in any way that would give him pleasure, just to see him arching up like that, crying out, being all his.

Using his grip on Thranduil’s hair and his entire body’s force, Bard pushed the elf down until his face was once again pressed against the stones beneath him, with only his hips raised up. Bard set up a merciless pace, pummelling the elf’s ass as he held him trapped between the stones and his cock with nothing to do but take it as Bard set a nearly punishing rhythm. Just as he had thought, it didn’t take long for the Elven King to start wailing in pleasure, clamping down on Bard’s cock with orgasmic spasms shuddering through his entire body. The vice grip on his dick and the heat was all it took for Bard’s barely gripped restrain to break and the man let himself burst inside the Elven King’s body, his cock jolting and spilling until he was completely finished.

Once they were done, lying where they had fallen one over the other under the darkening sky, Bard realised just how cold his limbs were becoming. The temperature had dropped to a nearly wintry chill and his feet and hands were already turning blue regardless of the warmth still kindling in his belly.

Promptly the man tucked his cock back in and laced up his pants. He sat up, collecting the pieces of his armour that Thranduil had thrown around in their hurry to undress. The Elven King followed a little more slowly, his movements somewhat stiff as he turned and sat down as well, pulling his trousers back up and rearranging his robes around his frame. His spring crown was all but destroyed, most of it’s little flowers had spilled over the ground, making Bard smirk in endearment as the still flushed Elven King looked around with confusion on his face, as if he still couldn’t comprehend what had hit him.

“Shall we get back inside?” Bard asked, offering a hand to Thranduil once he was fully dressed and his armour back in place. The elf took it, standing up with a small sigh and a slight smile on his face.

“Only if you would care to have dinner with me?” The King looked at Bard almost shyly and the man's heart fluttered with an emotion that he had thought he had forgotten how to feel, and yet, there it was.

“It would be my pleasure.” Bard smiled and took Thranduil’s offered hand, only to be pulled into another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it was a shorter chapter, but I wanted to keep this bit separate from the rest - it felt like it's own little thing :D And there will be chapter 4 and most likely an epilogue chapter 5 at the end. Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long - I'm still very busy with my new place, which needs a lot of work. But I didn't want to keep you waiting for too long, so here is the promised chapter from Thranduil's POV written especially for Malind <3 I am sorry it's short, but I hope you like it :)

Bard the Dragonslayer dined with him in his chambers and Thranduil was not surprised when the human wished to bed him once again later that night. The vigour of men was well known to the Eldar and had long been the source of amusement and jokes amongst his kin. However laugher was far from his mind when Bard took him on the silken sheets of his royal bed. Thranduil had half expected that the night might go as many before it, with the Dragonslayer sleeping in his arms and consenting to all his whims. Instead the human rolled him over and kissed him deeply, hands undoing fine robes and laying claim on all that they found underneath.

No small amount of lube went into coaxing the Elven King’s sore body, which felt too raw and freshly used to be filled again. However his lover wanted and Thranduil’s heart acquiescented with little trouble.

When it happened, it was nothing like the rough act of passion they had shared outside on the battlements. This time the human was gentle and moved slowly between the King’s spread legs. Despite all the differences, in one respect their lovemaking had not changed. Those measured, deliberate thrusts were no less possessive, no less exerting of dominance than the hard pounding Bard had given him earlier. And while it was more than a millennia since Thranduil had last submitted to anyone’s will, the elf allowed his lover to hold down his wrists, fist his hair, dictate the angle of each kiss and set the pace with his hips as he pleased.

Never before had Thranduil lain on his back and let someone pleasure him. His wife had been soft and weightless, a waiting embrace, an affectionate smile. Bard was a solid heat grounding him, holding him tight, fighting him at every turn, demanding respect.

They were different and yet alike. Bard was independent. He did not need anyone’s authority to guide him. All his life he had been the master of his own destiny and the head of his family. Not only that, his lover had inherited more than a little something of his ancestor King Girion. Thranduil could tell that the Dragonslayer would have made an excellent leader for his people. Had circumstances been different, the Elven King would have been happy to see Bard as the fellow ruler of a neighboring nation. But as they were, the Dragonslayer couldn’t possibly be allowed to leave the Woodland Realm. Thranduil was never going to let him. They both knew that.

Judging by the way Bard froze in place the moment Thranduil’s breaths became a little too fast and his soft moans a little too desperate said it all. The man wanted to use every ounce of power he could get and remind the Elven King that he had it. He gave pleasure at his own terms and relished the control. It was a strange dance they shared. Even on his back with his legs spread and his wrists pinned above his head, Thranduil knew that he was in charge. It was exciting to let Bard pretend. And when once again the Dragonslayer withheld his orgasm, and the elf arched beneath him, thrilling in the agony of the rush receding, shuddering with need, Thranduil smiled.

His human nibbled on his sensitive ear as if in warning and resumed sliding in and out of his stretched out hole. The Elven King let himself shatter, heave in resignation and allow it all to happen. Because Thranduil owned him. Fully and completely.

With every breath and every action, Bard the Dragonslayer was his and his only. And Thranduil was safe, now and forever, raptured and reaffirmed. Bard was perfect in every way. Made to protect him. Gorgeous, masculine and so valiant… But caged. And jaded. And angry. And bitterness on his lover’s kiss left a sour aftertaste in his mouth.

…

Once their lovemaking was complete there was little left of the night for rest.

Bard lay awake, his mind wandering elsewhere. Thranduil observed his handsome features, taking note of the firelight reflected in his dark eyes and the unusual way his tanned skin stretched over his pronounced muscles, so unlike the elegant softness of elvish bodies.

The King had half a mind to touch, run his fingertips over the expanse of the Dragonslayer and rejoice in the way he was created, as if in answer to the evil that Morgoth had once made to plague his kin. Yet Thranduil did not dare - the gesture too possessive even in his eyes.

He knew Bard did not enjoy the restraints of his authority. He had known that from the start. Eagwen had done a marvelous job reporting every word that Bard had confided in her, revealing his struggle with accepting Thranduil’s power in all things.

“I have news of Dale.” Thranduil broke the silence, predictably gaining his lover’s undivided attention. “The humans are struggling to elect a new ruler amongst them. Many mourn that you are not the one to govern.”

The Dragonslayer frowned deeply and the elf could recognise his weariness and his annoyance. Bard seemed to think that he was being deliberately teased with what he could not have. However his answer surprised the Elven King:

“T’is fortunate that I am not there. I would have made a poor King.”

Thranduil looked away to hide the roll of his eyes. He didn't understand why his love insisted on maintaining this unnecessary humility. It bordered on stubbornness.

“Your people would disagree.” He said, keeping his tone light and shifting in the silks that covered his naked body. Bard’s scent clung to him like a second skin.

“If you’d ask it of me, I would give you Dale.” The Elven King prosed. “You will have to remain in my Kingdom, of course, but the city will be fully under your jurisdiction and your people may call you Lord, if not King.”

His offer was genuine and Thranduil had not mean no ill by it, yet Bard’s sour expression and the anger flashing in his eyes told the elf that his intentions had once again been misread.

“It would be better if they choose a leader from their midst.” Bard gritted out between clenched teeth and his voice was nearly a snarl. “What use is a Lord whom they do not even get to see?”

Thranduil’s lips parted but he held back his response. It was seldom easy to communicate with the human. While the desires of their hearts were much the same, finding a way to understand Bard’s mind proved difficult, even with Eagwen’s regular reports.

“I meant no offence.” The Elven King said in the end.

Bard chuckled mirthlessly and shook his head.

“You never do, do you?” He smiled ruefully and did not meet the Elven King’s gaze.

Now, that sounded like a condescending dismissal to Thranduil’s ears.

“I know that there are differences between us.” The King said, fighting to control his own ill temper. “But I would have you know that I regard you highly.”

Bard’s eyes turned to him and the Dragonslayer watched him carefully, searchingly. His eyes were overbright and large, and there was sadness in the draw of his mouth, the very emotion Thranduil had hoped to banish but had somehow caused yet again.

“I know.” His Dragonslayer said. “I regard you so as well.”

Thranduil shifted closer to Bard’s form, placing a hand on the human’s chest. The temperature of Bard’s skin once again shifted. It was cool now, a dramatic change from the heat that had burned there mere minutes ago. He wondered how humans could change so quickly.

“Perhaps, when he is old enough, your son can take that place instead of you.” Thranduil offered. Bard’s smile grew but it was tired and full of loss.

“If I took you back to Dale,” Bard began, meeting the Elven King’s eyes and lifting a hand to caress the line of Thranduil’s jaw, “If I made you remain there until the end of your long life, how would you feel?”

Thranduil looked at Bard for a long moment. He guessed that the answer Bard expected was “not happy”.

“I cannot say.” He said instead. “I would outlive you and I’d return to my Kingdom. But even if the terms were the same and I had to die in Dale without ever returning to my woods, I’d accept Mandos’ call with peace if I knew that Legolas accepted his title as King.”

“And how about living your life trapped?” Bard asked.

“You are not trapped-”

“Am I not?!” Bard insisted. “Your subjects can move freely within your Kingdom, but not I! When will I be allowed to go back-”

“ **You swore** your fealty to me! You are my subject here and you will not question me!” Thranduil snapped and as soon as he did, he regretted it. 

His human’s jaw hanged slack and he stared at Thranduil expressionlessly. Something in those wide eyes seemed to crack and suddenly Thranduil wished to put it back and make it whole.

“Forgive me.” He hurried to say before his lover let out his held breath, the one that surely meant to precede him storming out. “You are a lot more to me than that. You know that.”

Bard’s glare was furious, but it was also desperate and helpless.

“How could I know what I am to you?” Bard asked. “For all I know, this is the new way you’d have me put you to sleep at night.”

The insult stung deeply and Thranduil looked away sharply, as if slapped. His eyes closed in an effort to block the words, which he had heard, but it was too late. He couldn’t believe what Bard had just insinuated about him. About what they shared.

Tears gathered in his eyes and he remained frozen, afraid that moving would send them spilling between his closed lids.

“I’m sorry.” Bard’s voice was shaking. “I didn’t mean that. Thranduil, look at me, please!”

He felt the Dragonslayer’s hand on his arm, touching him gently. As his eyelashes fluttered opened droplets of moisture made them stick together, but thankfully no tears flowed.

“Never say that again. Never even think it.” The elf said and Bard nodded.

His lover pulled him into an embrace and Thranduil allowed himself to be cradled against strong shoulders.

“You are important to me.” Bard whispered in his hair. “I will do whatever it takes…”

Thranduil returned his embrace, sighing contently.

“I love you.” He admitted.

The human’s breath hitched and his hands stilled. Thranduil waited with a bated breath for his response.

Bard pulled away and looked at his face. Thranduil held his searching gaze and waited.

The dragonslayer’s answer was a kiss. The Elven King waited for the words to be returned but they never did. In the end he supposed the kiss said it all, Bard had mentioned something about its importance to humans and let himself relax.

Loving a human was never going to be easy. He had figured as much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry this was short - i'm super busy these days :D Haven't abandoned this though :D

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot, but I decided to split it, because it's getting long. I hope you like it so far! And let me know your thoughts!


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